


a loss for two

by loserrobin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Canon verse, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Drinking to Cope, M/M, brief mention of drinking, talk of death (non-graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loserrobin/pseuds/loserrobin
Summary: Concept : Renly mourns the death of his brother, Robert.Setting : Canon verse.Warning : Canon character death, talk of death (non-graphic), angst, semi-hurt/comfort.Word Count : 987.
Relationships: Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	a loss for two

Loras dares to venture through the darkened halls of Storm’s End’s castle, a few torches lit for the stationed night guards. Hands cupping a candle for personal light, he makes his way to a familiar wooden door, entering without a knock when he knows his company is wanted.

Inside is aglow by firelight, warming the edges of the room, chasing the chill of the night. There is a chair pulled up close, cushioned by fluffed, goose-feather pillows, a strong back and shoulders resting against them. A head of coal black hair is backlit by the fire, recently shorn, and Loras shuts the door quietly, placing the candle down before moving closer.

“You came,” a voice finally acknowledges him. There is a hint of a slur, brown eyes spotting a hand holding a cup of liquid in a lazy grasp. While Renly is known to partake in drink, mild concern springs forth at the idea he’s been sitting in a dark room, alone, doing so.

“You did not wish to see me?” A tease for they both know the truth.

Loras takes the opportunity to divest of his heavier garb, armor left in his rooms, untying his cloak of forget-me-nots to lay across an unused chair, his boots joining down onto the floor. Feeling lighter and more exposed, he shivers when the night chill ghosts through his thin shirt, tracing down to his belly. He steps back to his lord, a hand coming up to touch the planes of Renly’s face, fingertips admiring the shadows that dance there.

“Speak to me,” he quietly implores. He wants to hear Renly’s thoughts, wants to be welcomed into the heart of his lover, to know what lies there, even if it is painful.

“He’s -” And Renly moves quickly to shield his eyes behind a hand, leaning forward, knees braced as his back bows, hunching as if he can flee from the truth. While he was taller than Loras, now he appears deceptively small curled into himself.

An audible swallow. “I know.”

What can he say to that? King Robert Baratheon is dead. The news had come this morning, hardly two days after Renly was able to return to his home. Loras feared the guilt of leaving his bedridden brother would drive his lover down a spiralling path, but a lord is still a lord and there was nothing he nor his knights could do to heal their king.

“My brother is dead, Loras,” watery and grim. “Robert is, gods, he is dead.”

Loras cannot do more, but place a warm hand on Renly’s back, rub in a soothing motion he’s grown to know well, learned from his sister and mother. He wants to lay him down, smooth out the wrinkles in his forehead, kiss the tears from his eyelids before they can even fall. Loras does not know what it’s like to lose someone, the closest he can do is imagine what could have happened when Willas’s horse fell on him, a frightening nightmare he does not wish to dwell on.

_If I’d lost my brother, how harsh would my eyes be burning with salt and water?_

He does not know, cannot fathom, even if one day he will have to face such a tragedy.

“I should have stayed. His final days I spent laughing and travelling while he lay wounded and dying.”

“There was nothing further you could do,” insistent and firm. “We do not possess the powers to heal the sick or treat the wounded.”

“He was my brother,” Renly hisses, head bolting upright to fix Loras with a glare. His eyes are wet and doleful, eyelashes sticking to his skin, looking more like a fawn rather than a stag. His carefree patience has been replaced by grief’s anger, resembling Loras’s own impetuous nature. “I mocked him, but I loved him.”

The sight of trembling lips breaks Loras’s heart. Renly finally sits back, looking down into his cup listlessly. A bottle of wine sits on a nearby table and were this a more joyous occasion, Loras would have joined him. Instead he gently pries the half-filled cup from shaky fingers, returns it to the table to be forgotten.

“He will be with my mother and father now,” Renly’s slurred speech continues. “I don’t remember them, I was too young when their ship wrecked. I don’t remember my father’s face outside of the portraits, or my mother’s voice. I do not remember kisses to my hair or her fussing. They died after my first nameday.”

The warm hand is back, rubbing and offering support, a motion the travels from back to shoulders, trying to soothe a storm. Loras leans down to press a kiss to the crown of Renly’s head, a lingering and loving press of lips. It is with that pressure that the sobs become liberated, full waves that breach a broad chest, followed by a crescendo of sound that leaves Renly’s lungs gasping for air.

“I’m drowning,” he bewails in another gasp. “Gods.”

Loras cannot contain his worry, hands clasping around his love’s face to press kisses to cheeks and chin, a hurried brush on the nose, another catching on the corner of a lip, yet another on the temple and another there for good measure.

“Ease, my sun.” A name that came with such adoration, for Renly was the light that cast out all others to him, a light he wished to protect with all his might.

“My heart is wounded… will I die too?”

“No,” vehemency dripping like nectar,” I would never allow it.”

A faint smile through the mess of strain is brought forth. “Never, my knight of flowers?”

“Never,” he repeats, punctuated by a long kiss pressed to Renly’s forehead, a promise in his voice. “I could not bear it. We shall live long before we are to die, I swear it.”

“With you, I hope.” A sad smile.

“Always with you,” Loras assures.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what you've read, please check out my other works and profile! You can follow me on twitter or tumblr under the same @.


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